Midwinter Luck
by lionesseyes13
Summary: Gary follows the Midwinter custom of proposing to the woman he loves.


Author's Note: This was written for the Third Day of Midwinter Challenge over at the Tamora Pierce Writing Experiment forum. The story is set the Midwinter after _Lioness Rampant_.

Disclaimer: There would have been more Gary in the Alanna books if I were Tamora Pierce. That is all I will say about my being a poor college student and not a real author.

Midwinter Luck

Gary of Naxen, newly appointed Prime Minister to the recently crowned king, was as much in the Midwinter spirit as he could possibly be. He was relaxing on a parlor settee with his sweetheart, whom he hoped to make his fiancée before the sun set if Midwinter luck wasn't going to be fickle to him, sitting beside him in a fan of periwinkle silk and ribbons.

Across from them, his mother and father were holding hands on another sofa. Duke Gareth looked stronger and happier than he had since his heart attack on the day of Jon's coronation, and Duchess Roanna's imperious face had softened at the sight of her husband's good health. Cythera of Elden was somehow even more beautiful than Gary had ever seen her before, and, when Cythera was lovely enough to break his heart, he didn't know how he had ever found the false Lady Delia attractive enough to fight Raoul over her gloves. He could mark that down to the follies of young adulthood, while thinking that Delia was a beast who deserved to spend Midwinter alone, shivering in a dungeon and knowing that her cold beauty would melt with years of nobody to admire it.

An evergreen, illuminated by flaming candles, golden baubles, and silver ribbons stood proudly in a corner of the parlor. Warm, freshly-baked cookies carved in the shapes of snowflakes, doves, and snowmen rested on a table. Eggnog, flavored and scented with flecks of cinnamon and nutmeg, was placed in a tureen beside the cookies.

Earlier, there had been gifts—thick books, gold and silver jewelry studded with gems, and silk clothes among other presents—lying amid the evergreen needles on the scarlet carpet under the Midwinter tree. Now, all those gifts had been opened and admired by their recipients, which meant that there was only one present left for Gary to give. The gift that the mere thought of made his stomach knot like his intestines. The present that reminded him that, even if he was the king's cousin, the heir to a powerful family, the Prime Minister, and a close friend of Jon's since childhood, there was still the chance that Cythera might not want to marry him. The gift that pointed out that, even if he was a good catch on the marriage market, that knowledge wouldn't make him feel any better if Cythera refused to take the ring he was about to offer her.

"Cythera," he said, pointing at a small black box, containing all his dreams, that was hanging among the glittering ornaments. "There is another present on the tree for you."

"Oh, Gary." Cythera shook her hair, so that a carefully curled strand of ash-blonde hair fell into her cornflower blue eyes, as she plucked the tiny black box from the tree. "It's traditional for presents to go under the tree, not on them."

"The gift is traditional enough that I had to be original in the giving of it." Gary found that it was easy to make a dry comment when his mouth felt like the Great Southern Desert.

"You've intrigued me." Her eyes sparkling in the glow from the burning candles on the evergreen, Cythera opened the box. For a second that contained an eternity, she gazed blankly down at the diamond on the golden ring, while Gary imagined her shrieking a refusal at him and pelting the ring at his head. Then, roses blossoming on her cheeks, she exclaimed, "Yes, Gary! Oh, I was starting to fear that you'd never ask, and I would die a shriveled shrew."

Gary was going to point out wryly that marriage didn't prevent her from dying a shriveled shrew (and probably increased the odds of such an occurrence), but he was interrupted before he could begin when she kissed him on the lips, making him realize that she had actually said yes. She would marry him. She would love him. She would stand by him until he died despite his horrible puns. Wild joy pounded through his veins, making his heart thud in his chest and his lungs forget how to breathe. Everything except her fell away from his mind, because he had her for this moment, which could stretch out forever for him—for them—because she had said yes. She had said yes. One word—one yes—had defined his whole life.

"Tell me that was better than your first kiss," she murmured, pulling away from him and pressing a white glove, warm from touching her skin, against his cheek.

"Of course it was." Gary chuckled. "My first kiss was with Lady Roxanne, and it was slightly more disgusting than kissing a slug."

"I don't doubt you're speaking from experience." Cythera tilted her head against his shoulder, for once not seeming to care that it would mess up her perfectly-styled hair. "Since you had your first kiss with Lady Roxanne for a few coins, I imagine you wouldn't have any qualms about kissing a slug on a bet, either."

"I thought that a couple of coins was a good price for a kiss, but now I know a good kiss is priceless." Gary wound a lock of her hair around his finger, admiring the way the candlelight made it glisten, and thinking he could spend at least a century studying every strand of her hair. "You don't have to mock me for all my childhood mistakes now that I'm a man."

"She does, actually," declared Duchess Roanna haughtily from the opposite settee. "It's a tradition for Naxen wives to keep their husbands humble."

"In that case, I have an open wound Cythera can rub some salt into later." Gary rolled his eyes. "I'm sure that will keep me from becoming too arrogant."

"I only rub salt into wounds I create." Cythera grinned up at him. "It's a tradition of mine."


End file.
